Nauseous? Hell, a lot of us are at the very least more than a little anxious. I wouldn’t count on Cheeto and his family of dipshits to successfully hit the ocean if they fired off a missile from the beach…and if the first hundred days are any indication, we’ll have to more or less daily hope that someone, anyone, can keep Trump distracted, perhaps by ridiculous anecdotes about his latest hero Andrew Jackson (note: just me, but a comparison to Jackson isn’t exactly a compliment) or at the very least in awe of “how complicated” everything is.

And god help us should he build a sense of comfort or confidence in office. That combined with the temperament of a spoiled juvenile is a recipe for something I don’t even want to smell, let alone experience.